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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Oliap.'52^opyright Ko, 

Shelf 5 T 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 











A'. 




THE 

TEMPER CURE 


by ^ 

STANLEY EDWARDS JOHNSON 
!| 


THE 


Hbte,„F|r«88 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 
NEW YORK 





Library of Congreaa 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 30 1900 

Copyright entry 

«0V 301900 

SECOND COPY 

Oelivored to 

ORDER DIVISION 

DEC 13 IDUU, 


Copyright, 1900, 
by 
THE 

Hbbcy press 

in 

the 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 


All Rights Reserved. 




t 


c) 

p 




CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


I . The Young Doctor 9 

II. The First Patient 20 

III. The Discovery 30 

IV. The Sanitarium 43 

V. Fame and Fortune 58 



THE TEMPER CURE. 


I. 

TH^ YOUNG DOCTOB. 

When Edward Winchester received his diploma 
as a doctor of medicine there was a certain human 
failing which rebelled strongly against the meager 
stipend which falls to the average member of his 
profession. 

We are sometimes led to think that the desire 
to attain great riches is a distinctly American 
trait, but most of us are prone to believe that the 
love of gold is a passion which the “All wise 
Providence” planted within us, without regard to 
race. 

It was not without reason that Dr. Winchester 
regarded his likelihood of ever becoming a rich 
man as so remote as hardly to be worth the haz- 
ard of a hope. We meet the world over men and 
women who, but for the curse of barring circum- 
stance, would achieve riches or fame, or even 
both, in some calling to which Nature has sum- 
9 


The Temper Cure# 


moned them. Nature had called Winchester to 
the profession of medicine, and with the greatest 
labor he had attained the doctor’s degree. He was 
without money and without influence. He had 
serious cares, such as a widowed and dependent 
mother and the constantly present spectre of a 
yawning and empty purse. 

He was, moreover, without the personal quali- 
ties which make a doctor’s presence in the sick- 
room oftentimes more efficacious than his medi- 
cines. The fact that he was undersized, that his 
privations in youth and a diet consisting mainly 
of a slender supply of oatmeal had dwarfed his 
whole system, and too early in life had given him 
an expression resembling that which follows the 
tasting of a sour apple, made the outlook for his 
future almost as depressing as his past. More- 
over, he was afflicted with a certain undefinable 
deformity, which was faintly discernible, and all 
the more aggravating to a patient, inasmuch as it 
could be located with difficulty and set afloat in a 
nervous invalid’s mind thoughts that were any- 
thing but soothing. 

Added to all these defects was one more, prob- 
ably the worst of all ; this was a spvecies of nerv- 
ousness which displayed itself in an unceasing 
blinking of the eyes and a twitching in the vicin- 

to 


The Young Doctor. 


ity of those organs that stamped his whole being 
with the demon of restlessness. Patients tried to 
count them as he counted the beats of their pulses, 
and after he had gone would try to estimate how 
many times he blinked in a minute, in an hour, in 
a day, in a week, and so on until their latter con- 
dition was worse than their first, and the inev- 
itable change of doctor resulted. 

Then the demon which possessed the man — if 
there are really such things as demons — as if to 
add the touch of genius to the creation, planted 
within him this insatiable desire for wealth. One 
may understand that where the attaining of bread 
and butter even was a matter of doubt this un- 
quenchable ambition must be ever a source of 
mental anguish. 

In spite of all these defects, however, Edward 
Winchester was a good and even a pious man. He 
was a devoted attendant at the evening prayer 
meetings of his native village, and it had ever 
been his first thought that his mother should be 
well cared for. He had made his way to his pro- 
fession by working at anything which would 
bring money to his hand. He had studied about 
half the time, in college, allotted by the curricu- 
lum. The rest of the time he worked on his na- 
tive farm, sawed wood, and, in short, did every- 

n 


The Temper Cute, 


thing that would put money in his purse. That he 
could pass his examinations was a source of won- 
der, not to say envy, to his confreres in the fresh 
water medical college he attended. Such things 
seldom breed admiration among college students, 
and in this instance it worked in the opposite di- 
rection. Winchester was not only unpopular — he 
was hated. 

When after a lapse of twenty years they were 
able to look back upon his somewhat remarkable 
career, they hated him more. 

The science of psychology has much in its 
scope which it has yet to harmonize and codify in- 
to laws which will satisfy the human understand- 
ing in regard to the question of destiny. The 
world is full of human contradiction. In this spe- 
cial instance, a man defective in body, mind and, 
as some who have studied his career would claim, 
in soul, possessed one gift amid all his defects, 
which his fairy godmother had probably given 
him in his cradle, moved by pity at his unprom- 
ising outlook. If we have not been taught by stu- 
dents of our mental being to believe in destiny, 
foreordination, or what you will, the career of 
this man would serve as an argument in its favor, 
worked out in a laboratory course of psychology. 

The day following his graduation there ap- 

t2 


The Youngf Doctof» 


peared at the ancestral home of this man a small 
sign, which one could read with an effort through 
the screen of the maple trees which cast a dense 
shade upon the front yard. It read : 

‘‘EDWARD WINCHESTER, M. D. 

“Physician and Surgeon.’’ 

No one ever knew of a doctor with office hours 
in this remote New Hampshire township, conse- 
quently no mention was ever made of them. 

Dr. Winchester’s fellow-townspeople possessed 
that feeling of respect for him which is essential 
to the success of every doctor. They were even 
anxious to employ him. But the fact that his 
presence even made them worse rather than bet- 
ter militated strongly against his erecting that 
structure called a “practice.” Nor had philan- 
thropy, in this region of the earth, reached that 
stage of perfection which would move the undis- 
eased to feign illness for the sake of helping this 
unfortunate man, although expedients of a sim- 
ilar sort are not unknown in those who are moved 
by compassion for their kind to indulge in such 
deceptions. 

The appearance of the sign directed the local 

13 


The Temper Cute* 


thought to the new-fledged physician. The people 
twisted their necks to read the lettering, and then 
went home to ruminate over it. Their views 
varied according to their dispositions; but even 
the most optimistic of them could find but little 
to hope for in the young man’s future. He was 
generally referred to, in his native village, as “Ed” 
Winchester. 

When the minister of the Orthodox church re- 
turned to his home he opened the subject to his 
wife, to whom he always accorded the blessed 
privilege of listening to his morning adventures 
before seating himself to write his sermon. 

“I see Eddie Winchester is home, and has put 
out his shingle.” 

This was enough to arouse the greatest interest, 
for where events are few the speculation thereon 
is large in a corresponding ratio. 

“So he’s actually a doctor? Well, I never ex- 
pected it. What do you suppose he’s goin’ to do?” 

"'Do!” exclaimed the reverend gentleman; 
“why, practice, of course. What else is a doctor 
expected to do ?” 

“Well, I for one don’t believe any one would 
ever want him in a sick-room. I am sure those 
eyes of his would be enough to drive any one dis- 
tracted.” 

H 


The Young Doctor 


“I don’t see what his eyes have to do with his 
knowledge of medicine. He probably knows his 
business ; he’s got his diploma.” 

“Did you see him?” she asked, her thought tak- 
ing a new turn. 

“No, I didn’t; but I’m going to. I’m going to 
do all I can to help him. I’ve followed him ever 
since he was in the primary class in Sunday 
school, and I know if any one ever deserved suc- 
cess he does.” 

“Well, you may, but if either of us is ever sick 
I want Dr. Slack. He may not be a good Chris- 
tian, but he’s always hearty like, and brings a 
good feeling to a sick person.” 

This remark did not please the man of God, 
and he started to go into his study, but not without 
a parting shot. “If you are sick you can have 
whom you please; but I should hope you would 
consider something besides a man’s personal ap- 
pearance. A doctor is a doctor, if he knows his 
business, and I should imagine that was what he’d 
be called for. I want you to remember that if 
ever I’m taken sick, to call on Eddie Winchester — 
I mean Dr. Winchester.” 

The world at large would probably set down 
this last remark as a case of irrational optimism 
versus practical common sense — a charge which, 
15 


The Temper Cute* 


unfortunately, often comes down upon the clerical 
profession. 

There were other views expressed in the little 
village that morning which, while equally sympa- 
thetic, did not portend the possibility of a patient, 
as in the case of the clergyman. It might be said 
that, as the minister, next to his care of souls, was 
extremely careful of his health, it was improbable 
he would very soon become a patient of Dr. Win- 
chester. 

^^Aunt” Mary Wellington, as she was called, 
was returning from her morning’s marketing, 
when she espied the fateful sign beneath the upper 
windows of the doctor’s home. It may be said of 
this woman that she possessed a kind heart and 
was at the same time eminent for her common 
sense. When the village people were perplexed 
and despaired of the solution of some domestic 
or home problem, they invariably said in the final 
throes of desperation, “Let’s ask Aunt Mary;” 
and if her successful diagnosis was not invariable, 
her beaming face and abundance of good advice 
were always a source of comfort. She would have 
been a good artisan under Pharaoh, when that 
mighty potentate failed to provide straw for the 
bricks, for she was of that cosmic human species 
who are always able to make something out of 
16 


The Young Doctor 

nothing. She examined the whole sphere of Dr. 
Winchester’s possibilities on her way home, and 
as they were far from being numerous, her opin- 
ions were ripe when she reached her abode. 

“Well, there’s one man in this town I’m sorry 
for,’’ she declared, while catching her breath, “and 
that’s Eddie Winchester!” 

“Well, I want ter know if he’s got back?” her 
daughter Susie chimes back. 

“I reckon so, for I saw his sign jest now as I 
came by ; seems he’s all ready ter practice. Sech 
a pity he’s spent all the money he’s worked fer ter 
get an eddication and know medicine, when any 
one can see he’s no more qualified fer it than he is 
ter be a dude.” 

“But, mother, he’s smart. Why, folks say he’s 
got his diploma and not worked mor’n half the 
time they generally do in college.” 

“That don’t make no difference, I tell you. 
Folks won’t hev him. He ain’t social like — and 
a doctor’s got to have some manners — got ter be 
slick like. Ef he could get started, p’raps it’d go, 
but he can't get started, I tell you.” 

“That don’t seem fair. If he’s all right as a 
doctor, it don’t seem right fer any one ter ask 
more.” 

“Well, I don’t claim it’s right ; b’^t it’s true, and 

17 


The Temper Cure^ 


you jest see if I ain’t tellin’ yer the truth. He’ll 
never succeed as a doctor. He may in something, 
but not in a regular, callin’ round doctor.” 

“Well, I think folks had orter stand up for him. 
He b’longs here, and was raised here, an’ orter 
g/et employment mor’n those who come from 
away, like Dr. Slack.” 

“I ain’t claiming it’s right,” replied Aunt Mary, 
a little nettled. “Things ain’t always settled here 
according ter deserts, and folks has got to reckon 
on it, too. I’d do anything for Eddie Winches- 
ter, but if I’m fagged out an’ sick, I couldn’t hev 
him, and what’s more, I won’t, and you won’t 
either.” 

Having thus been presented with a personal 
view of the case, the daughter changed her ideas, 
as people are prone to do when a gown is fitted 
to their own mental person. 

‘T kinder guess I wouldn’t want him if I was 
real sick,” she assented. “Of course there are 
other things that count besides knowing a lot, as 
every one knows Eddie does. I’m awful sorry for 
’im, an’ I’d do anything fer him almost, ’cept hev 
him when I was awful sick.” 

“Well, that’s just what I’ve been saying all 
along. You wouldn’t hev him, ’cause I wouldn’t 
let yer, and I wouldn’t hev him ’cause I couldn’t 
IS 


The Young Doctor 


bear his blinking eyes ef I was sick. And I ain’t 
never sick unless Tm real sick, an’ then I want a 
doctor that’s a whole man.” 

Aunt Mary had the last shot, and settled the 
whole matter not only for her own household, but 
for the whole town. For if the consensus of opin- 
ion that was expressed that morning was concen- 
trated into one idea, it could not have been more 
plainly stated. There were cynical ideas and 
charitable ideas, but they all led to the same con- 
clusion — Dr. Winchester as a doctor of medicine 
was simply an impossibility. 


The Temper Cure. 


11 . 

THE EIRST PATIENT. 

The weeks went by, and the only friend Dr. 
Winchester had who had openly declared that he 
would employ him, continued in the same ad- 
mirable state of health, and prayed, preached and 
saved souls with the same admirable earnestness, 
while the patients came not to knock at his door. 

They were sad days fpr the young man. 
Weighed down with cares, with a debt for his 
education and a scanty acreage on the old, ances- 
tral farmstead, which he tilled while his ear wait- 
ed for the sound of the doorbell, he learned those 
lessons of life which only come from the depths 
of a despairing discouragement. And all the 
time Destiny was waiting for its fateful hour to 
strike. 

It was dreaming its way into his consciousness. 
All great conceptions come in that way. The 
poet, the seer and the inventor are like ^^neas, 
when he met his goddess mother wrapped in a 

20 


The First Patient* 


cloud. Then the mist lifts, and their thought be- 
comes a beautiful thing, and is called the fruit of 
genius. Newton was nodding when the falling 
apple waked him and revealed to him the immortal 
law of gravitation. Watts waked to find the ket- 
tle hissing in his face and bringing the great law 
of the pressure of steam; and poets wake from 
their sleep in the dead of night to pen lyrics 
which give them undying fame. 

Such dreams do not always have in view the 
betterment of the human race as their first im- 
pulse. And yet they are governed by a law which 
makes them do so, in spite of their originator. It 
is perhaps the working of the great power of the 
universe through the dormant consciousness of 
man. 

It is certain that Dr. Winchester had no motive 
in which he himself was not first. Those quiet, 
lonely days, interrupted but seldom by the ap- 
pearance of a human being at his door on an er- 
rand of any kind, gave a freer scope for the burn- 
ing ambition that possessed him. Governed, no 
doubt, by the characteristic which makes us desire 
that which we possess the least of, his one great 
desire was for wealth. He had known men in his 
profession who, turning their backs on their re- 
spectable brethren laboring in the legitimate field 
2 \ 


The Temper Cute* 


of medicine, had concocted nostrums, claimed to 
be universal panaceas for all bodily ailments, 
which were exploited in large type in the news- 
papers, and as the weeks passed added thousands 
to their bank accounts. 

These may be sweepingly classed under the one 
head of “Patent Medicines.” He was, however, 
too honest not to be faithful to the sacred tradi- 
tions of his profession. He had known men who 
had stepped outside the pale of honorable profes- 
sional labor and had hated them as cordially as 
any one. Like all men of his class, he believed 
they never would have been successful in the 
proper channels of their work. ‘ 

So he lived on with despair as his only con- 
stant earthly companion. It is indeed a wonder 
that he did not give up altogether, remove his 
sign and seek a subsistence in some other line of 
work. But he loved the profession of medicine, 
as Cousin Pons is represented to have loved his 
curios and antiquities. In some way or other 
he now and then bought the books which were 
necessary to his keeping abreast of the times, and 
the most delightful portion of the house was his 
office where he inhaled the odors of his medicines. 
The bottles sat in rows on his shelves, above his 
books, seeming strangely like himself, inasmuch 
22 


The First Patient 


as they possessed the power of relieving human 
suffering, but not the opportunity. 

The turning point in his life came to him with 
his first patient. It was unfortunate that it 
should be a member of the family who first 
sought physical counsel from him. The fact, 
moreover, that he was a brother-in-law and not 
held in very high esteem, made it still worse. Be- 
sides, he seemed to feel he was doing a favor to 
his unfortunate relative by coming at all and made 
the fact cruelly evident. 

This man, who had married an older sister sev- 
eral years before, was not a very creditable ad- 
dition to the family. He was a farmer and pos- 
sessed traits of smallness, especially in money 
matters, which had earned for him the popular 
soubriquet of being the “meanest man in town.” 
Various tales were told of him, but perhaps the 
one most completely characteristic of the creature 
was that every Sunday morning he gave his wife 
seven matches, which had to serve for the week. 
That was truly the man. He thought like that, he 
looked like it, he moved like it, and he talked like 
it. The charitable glands of his system were so 
small that a generous impulse would have burst 
them and a fatal congestion would have followed. 

We are often comforted to feel that the spar- 

23 


The Temper Cure 


rows are not too small to be cared for by the great 
Creator and Governor of our universe ; but as 
Sam Harrison entered and began to speak he 
seemed much smaller than any feathered biped 
known in the works of natural history. 

‘‘Well, Ts feelin’ kinder meachin’ like, Eddie, 
so I jest told the woman I guessed I’d interview 
her brother. Told her I heered he wasn’t what 
might be called hard pressed with patients, so 
quite likely I’d be welcome fer once. Might be a 

sorter an advertisement ” 

“You needn’t concern yourself for me,” the 
doctor interrupted hotly. “Offered service isn’t 
at any higher premium here than elsewhere.” 

“Wall, ye needn’t be oncivil. Ef I’ve come as 
a patient I expect ter be treated like one. Fust I 
reckon I’ll tell yer my simpletons. Fact is I’m 

clean run out, an’ hev been ever sence hayin’ ” 

“I don’t believe there’s anything the matter 
with you,” again interrupted the doctor, “unless 
maybe meanness has struck some vital organ.” 

The doctor was thoroughly angered now. He 
had never addressed his brother-in-law without 
the respect he felt that his sister’s choice was en- 
titled to; yet from the depth of his discourage- 
ment a spark flew at the hard, flint-like manner of 
the man. 


24 


The First Patient. 


‘‘Wall, now I jest guess I wouldn’t hev come 
over here onless somethin’ had been the matter 
with me; and I think I’d orter to be treated as 
well as any sick pusson, even allowin’ that I be a 
relative. An’ I’ll tell yer jest here that ye’d bet- 
ter not mek me mad, fer I don’t often git riled, 
and when I do I ain’t a very nice customer. Time 
was when I flew off a dozen times a week, but 
nowadays I’ve had ter giv it up. It brings on a 
trouble. Why, Eddie, last time I got real mad 
was much as three years ago, when the woman 
stepped on a leetle chicken somehow an’ killed 
it.’’ “The woman,” of course, was Dr. Win- 
chester’s sister. 

“Get as mad as you please, it matters nothing 
to me, if you only get out of this house — and you 
needn’t hurry to come again.” 

An unusual phenomenon followed this re- 
mark, and at once interested the doctor, from a 
pathological point of view. The would-be pa- 
tient first turned a bright scarlet and started vio- 
lently forward, whether to speak or to do some- 
thing violent it would be hard to say, as he was 
never able to carry out his purpose. For in the 
same minute he changed to a greenish-yellow 
color, which gradually grew darker, so that he 
alarmed the doctor. Then he fell to the floor, 
25 


The Temper Cure* 


writhing as if in great agony. The doctor sprang 
for his medicine, but before he was able to pre- 
pare a dose the patient’s condition changed again, 
a violent and copious nausea coming to his re- 
lief. It resembled a case of genuine seasickness 
as much as anything, and the physician changed 
the medicine to fit such an illness. 

By the time the man was able to lift his head, 
however, he improved rapidly, and strongly ob- 
jected to the medicine. He began to speak: “It’s 
the old trouble, only it gits worse ev’ry time. Ef 
I git riled, it alius is sure to come on and fer a 
few minutes there’s a pain and a feelin’ that meks 
one feel ez if death was a-comin’ sure: then I feel 
bilious like an* it’s all over. But I’m mighty 
keerful ‘bout gittin’ mad, fer I sartainly believe 
that sometime it’ll carry me off. It makes me 
worse ev’ry time. You acted so sort of oncivil 
thet it came a-fore I wus prepared. I alius knew 
yer didn’t like me. But what yer had again’ me 
I could never see. I came here this mornin’ with 
ther best intentions and I’m a genooinely sick 
man.” 

“Well, I should judge you were not well, and I 
guess a little blood-letting will be the best thing 
for you.” 


26 


The First Patient 


“Mercy, Eddie, I hate ter lose it, but ef yer 
think yer must, why I ’spose yer must.” 

“Yes, it’s the best thing to begin with it, espe- 
cially if one is run down. I won’t use the lance. 
I’ll just put on a few leeches.” 

He used six, and throughout the whole opera- 
tion he studied his patient with the keenest in- 
terest. When it was over and the man had de- 
parted, he sat in his chair wrapped in deep 
thought. The leeches had been placed on salt. 
But the blood was saved and placed on thin paper, 
was laid in the sun to clot and dry. 

Thfen the dreamer returned to his dreamland. 
The phantom greed for money was uppermost in 
his mind. The old problem, which Nature 
seemed to have given him at his birth, was turn- 
ing a new side to his view. As the day wore on 
the abstraction which possessed him increased. 
His mother called him twice to his meal, and was 
then obliged to take him by the arm and lead him 
to his frugal fare. But he did not feel hungry, 
and as his appetite seldom failed him, she was 
worried. 

“You never knew that failin’ of Carline’s hus- 
band a-fore I reckon?” she questioned. “But I 
wouldn’t let it worry me. It’s a great blessing to 
her. I don’t know what would have happened 

27 


The Temper Cure* 


a-fore now if he could get mad without being real 
sick. He had an awful temper when he was a 
lad. But he don’t dare to show it now. He’s 
jest as afraid of it as he can be. He tells Carline 
that she’d ort not to bother him. But she don’t 
feel jest that way. She thinks she’d better not 
humor him in it. So he jest has to hold in fer all 
he’s worth when things don’t go to suit him. It 
jest does me a heap o’ good ter see him a-holdin’ 
on to himself. I’m sure Carline’s life would 
have been a big sight harder ef it hadn’t been fer 
his queer sickness.” 

"‘It’s a most interesting case, mother, besides 
being a blessing. I’ve never read of anything 
exactly like it, and I’m going to make a study of 
it. I should judge from what he said, he had 
been afflicted this way for a good many years.” 

“Why, it must be fully 20 years. When he 
was a boy he was an awful spiteful critter. If 
he couldn’t hev his own way, he’d lie on the floor 
and kick and beat his head on the floor until it 
seemed as if he’d beat his brains out. Then this 
sickness came along and he found he had to con- 
trol himself.” 

“It seems rather a pity there are not a good 
many in this world who are bound in the same 
way. But it is a most interesting case.” 

28 


The First Patient 


The rest of that day Dr. Winchester was lifted 
above his troubles. He went through his books, 
but he could find no cases which seemed in any 
way to correspond with the symptoms displayed 
by Carline’s husband. He called around a few 
days later to see his patient, and found he had 
gained a little from the blood letting. He gave 
him a tonic and returned home. He went on foot, 
for he had not yet seen his way to owning a horse 
and buggy. 


29 


The Temper Cure* 


III. 

THE DISCOVERY. 

Not many days later a rather remarkable scene 
was enacted in the house of the clergyman, who 
has already been mentioned in this narrative as a 
p>ossible patient of the doctor’s, and unfortunate- 
ly like his brother-in-law — a deadhead. 

The Rev. Dr. James Stackhouse was serving 
in the twentieth year of his pastorate, and as a 
sameness of duty sometimes becomes monoto- 
nous and makes one testy and irritable, he was 
not always agreeable in the domestic circle, which 
only included his wife, a maid of all work and 
himself. The maid was a member of the Chris- 
tian Endeavor Society and other organizations in 
the little village, and she sometimes related in- 
stances, in the inner circle, of the good man’s life 
which, to put it mildly, were not fully in conson- 
ance with his cloth. It all argued badly for the 
welfare of the parish. There was much talk in 
retired places beyond earshot of Mrs. Stackhouse, 
30 


The Discovery , 


about the need of new life in the parish, and that 
it was not always a good thing for a man to re- 
main too long in one place. Dr. Stackhouse was 
getting along, and a new man — one of course 
with a more spiritual nature, might infuse a more 
Christian spirit into the community. His flashes 
of temper were a source of comment, and the 
young woman who was the source of all informa- 
tion gave abundant evidence to the hungry 
maiden ladies who thronged the weekly sewing 
circle. When working in another room from her 
mistress, she would often speak without restraint. 

don’t see how she stands it,” she was accus- 
tomed to say. “If the least little thing goes 
wrong he gets awful mad and makes it jest dread- 
ful for all of us.” Then the click of the needles 
would go on, while all waited to see if the girl 
would not say more. There is nothing more ab- 
horrent to a party of women than silence; Na- 
ture’s hatred of a vacuum is not to be compared 
with it. So the tale was renewed. 

“I think sometimes that I’ll have to give it all 
up. But then I look at Mrs. Stackhouse and she 
couldn’t tell me to stay plainer ef she spoke. Per- 
haps I hadn't orter to speak of it, but I know you 
won’t repeat. It’s got so now I can’t respect him 
as a minister, and it really seems awful to hear 


The Temper Cure* 


a man pray and think there’s no real feelin’ in it. 
If dinner is the least bit late he goes into a dread- 
ful tantrum and sez thet he’d think two wimmin 
orter to get a meal o’ vittles without bein’ late. 
He says thet it upsets him fer the whole day and 
that he can’t write on his sermon or anything 
else. Then after dinner hell go down town, or 
out inter the woods. When he comes back he 
seems all calmed down, and looks real sorry and 
concerned.” 

This and other minute pieces of gossip were 
served up every week, much to the clergyman’s 
injury. Without any intention of defending his 
course, it must be stated that he was really a good 
man. He had always been a great lover of his 
home, and had remained in this quiet country 
parish mainly through his love for the simple, rus- 
tic life it offered him, rather than through any 
compulsion. He had done a great -deal of good, 
also, in his quiet manner, dispensing those simple 
Christian kindnesses which are too often hidden 
under the cloud of unpopularity. In his youth, 
in the seminary, he was regarded as the most 
probable candidate of his class for brilliant suc- 
cess in the ministry; but he had deliberately 
turned his back on all and lived in comparative 
seclusion. No minister could have been more be- 
32 


The Disco vety , 


loved than he had been for the greater part of his 
pastorate. Now, however, he was met with a 
certain coldness, which he felt keenly and which 
shriveled up his kindly nature as the frost turns 
up the leaves in autumn. He was taking his first 
lesson in human ingratitude. He had always 
been a hot-tempered man, but his choler had been 
under excellent control until of late, when fits of 
anger came over him, and conquered him. He 
began to believe his health was at fault and re- 
solved to consult Dr. Winchester. He came to 
his office one morning, a few weeks after the visit 
of Sam Harrison. He entered as one who is as- 
sured of a welcome, and saw at once the kindness 
of his reception, in spite of the physician’s blink- 
ing nervousness and soured expression. 

■'Tve come to see you, doctor, as I might say, 
in extremis. I am not well and have not been for 
some time. I think my nervous system is a little 
out of plumb, for I am sorry to say I am get- 
ting testy and I am afraid I make the women un- 
comfortable at home, and that I am not so good- 
natured anywhere as I once was. It won’t do, 
you know. So I am telling you frankly all my 
symptoms, and shall expect that you will do the 
same by me.” 

“I think I can help you, Dr. Stackhouse. Just 

33 


The Temper Cute* 


sit down a moment while I look you over a little/’ 
. While the doctor was busy sounding the lungs 
and listening to the heart beats, the clergyman 
continued talking. “I suppose that I shall be rec- 
ommended to go away, or something of that sort ; 
perhaps even to go abroad. But I don’t want to 
leave home, doctor, if I can help it, and would do 
almost anything rather than that. That is what 
I have been dreading more than anything; but 
for that I would have been here before, but I sup- 
pose I shall have to submit to whatever you think 
best.” 

‘T guess you needn’t go,” the other replied, put- 
ting away his instruments. *T’ve a new remedy 
which I imagine will help you, and a tonic will do 
the rest. I’m thinking. Now, if you will bare 
your arm I’ll give you an injection.” 

‘'Nothing in the way of morphine I hope?” 

“Not at all. It won’t do you a bit of harm, 
even if it does you no good. Come around about 
this time for a few days. Take this tonic before 
eating and before you go to bed and we’ll see if 
we have to send you off.” 

“Well, I think I am feeling better already, Ed- 
die, or doctor, rather. It’s hard to get used to 
these boys of mine when they are grown up. 
Good morning.” 


34 


The Discovery^ 


Standing in the window, the doctor watched 
his patient. There was a bright light in his eyes 
and his face was suffused with a feverish glow. 
An observer would have noticed that his hand 
trembled, and that he was even more restless and 
nervous than usual. Then he sat: in his chair 
gazing up the street, with the air of a man who 
expected something and was a little anxious lest 
it should not come as soon as wanted. When he 
went into dinner he ate but little, and his mother’s 
face seemed troubled. Nothing was said, how- 
ever, and the day wore along. 

The clergyman entered his home, bringing a 
little of the old time sunshine which used to be a 
salient characteristic of his. Dinner was ready 
and was eaten with a keen pleasure. He told 
about his call on the doctor, but mentioned noth- 
ing of its object. Then he smoked his pipe, and 
at last sat down in his study to write on his ser- 
mon. It was an easy task, and words of hope and 
spiritual healing followed close after each other 
from his renewed heart as in the earlier days. 
After writing for a couple of hours he moved to 
his sofa and was soon asleep. The afternoon 
wore on. Mrs. Stackhouse was treating herself 
to a call on one of the parish, to whom she con- 
fided her troubles and who accorded to her that 
35 


The Tempef Cute* 

rare gift in a friend of telling her the truth, when 
it was not sugar-coated. This afternoon she had 
resolved to open up the subject of her husband’s 
increasing unpopularity. It was not a pleasant 
task. But the information was received with rare 
good sense, and the two ladies talked on, regard- 
less of the run of time. The housemaid was also 
engaged in parish sewing the same afternoon and 
had opened up the secret skeleton reposing in the 
parsonage with more than her wonted freedom. 
It was not surprising, therefore, that the two 
should return a little late for the preparation of 
the evening meal. The clergyman had awaked 
some time before the arrival of either and saw at 
once that his supper would be late. He went to 
the kitchen, raked down the stove and placed the 
fresh water in the kettle to boil for the tea. Then 
he returned to the study, vainly trying to main- 
tain his serenity of mind. But the task was hard. 
He reflected how thoughtless it was for those 
women to interrupt his peace by being away from 
their duty. He considered the fate of the soldier, 
who is shot for being asleep at his post, and in 
spite of himself his choler began to rise. Both 
his wife and the housemaid would undoubtedly 
have sufiFered, but for a remarkable illness which 
came over him as his anger mounted to his head. 
36 


The Discovefy4 


Mrs. Stackhouse entered the study, somewhat 
anxious, and probably with the intention of recon- 
noitering to learn the state of her husband’s 
health. She found him in great agony on the 
floor, writhing, turning, groaning. Then a mo- 
ment later he was attacked with a fearful nausea. 
She was alone in the house and almost distracted. 
But a doctor was her first thought, and she ran 
at once to the home of Dr. Winchester. He 
seemed to have expected her and was ready at 
once to answer her call. 

‘T understand the case perfectly,” he said. 
“You need give yourself no anxiety. Dr. Stack- 
house will be perfectly well in a short time.” 

They returned to find the clergyman seated be- 
fore his desk, and the general disorder in the room 
showed that his illness had been severe. It may 
have been that a portion of the things lying about 
the room, such as books and a paper weight, had 
been put out of place in passion. It is certainly 
true that the housemaid had said that he some- 
times seemed to lose his reason, or at least his 
dignity, in the midst of passion, and “threw 
things,” as she expressed it. 

“How are you feeling now. Dr. Stackhouse?” 
the doctor asked in as cordial a manner as it was 
possible for him to use. 

37 


The Temper Cure 


‘‘I seem to be all right now, doctor. But it did 
seem for a few moments as if I was going to die. 
And if these women can’t attend to their duties 
properly I am not sure that I shall not.” 

“Tut, tut. Dr. Stackhouse. Don’t allow your- 
self to be excited again, or I am afraid you will 
have another attack, and I think the second will 
be worse than the first. You must not allow 
yourself to be in the least degree ruffled. It is 
one of the effects of the medicine, which I may as 
well tell you is an entirely new remedy and will 
be a great blessing to mankind I firmly believe. 
Keep perfectly calm and you will be all right. 
There’s nothing to be done for you now. But I 
shall want you to come to the office in the morn- 
ing. I’ll say good night now.” 

From behind curtains and little slits in the 
doors Dr. Winchester’s- course homeward was 
watched with that keen concern with which every 
unusual act is observed in the rural districts. 
That Dr. Winchester should have a patient was 
indeed an unusual thing. But there was a cer- 
tain jauntiness in his bearing and an undoubted 
lightness of footstep which was not unnoticed by 
those who saw him. Little did they realize what 
a rush of joy was coursing through his veins. It 
was perhaps the first time that he had ever truly 
38 


The Discovery^ 


embraced the elusive form of the goddess Hope. 
But he held her close now. The experiment he 
had been burning with impatience to try, almost 
from the hour of his brother-in-law’s visit, had 
apparently been successful. With complete ab- 
sent mindedness he passed several houses beyond 
his home, his whole being becoming absorbed in 
a complex dream of great possibilities in the 
future, in which he himself figured as a person of 
fame and blessing, but above all as a man of 
wealth. He had formed his conception almost 
before his brother-in-law had left his house on 
that fateful day. It had been a conception with- 
out the materialistic element of reality to it, with- 
out the test of experience. Now that it had ap- 
parently been tried with success, the structure of 
his hope seemed like the lumber for the building 
of a house, only needing to be put together to 
make the thing complete. His mind teemed with 
plans and pictures of what his life would be in the 
midst of a successful discovery, which the world 
would receive with applause and gratitude and 
which would make him one of the great men of 
his time. The ambition for fame, a sensation be- 
fore unthought of, came into conflict with his 
desire for wealth, and he was in the position of a 
maid who, after having had no lover, now found 
39 


The Temper Cute, 


herself sued by two. It was a bewitching trance 
and a most pleasurable one. He turned abrupt- 
ly, hastened home, and entered his house. His 
neighbors believed that his one patient had af- 
fected his head. His mother was also alarmed, 
and as her son ate his supper with unusual hearti- 
ness and began to talk of things which the farm 
needed and which he hoped before long to give it, 
her sensation was not one of unmixed joy. 

There was only one fly in this beatific oint- 
ment. That he had made the clergyman the un- 
conscious victim of his scheme, and had placed in 
his veins the blood of a man who was abhorred by 
all for his meanness, was a cause of much uneasi- 
ness to his sense of honor. Dr. Winchester was 
a man who had but little on his conscience to 
trouble his peace of mind. He could not but feel 
that he had taken an unfair advantage of his 
spiritual adviser and one that the Scriptures 
would hardly uphold. He resolved that he would 
tell a part, not the whole, of the secret to the 
minister when he called the next day. 

There was less of assurance about the minister 
when he came for treatment the next morning. 

am afraid, doctor, judging from my experi- 
ence yesterday, that the cure is possibly worse 
than the disease.” 


40 


The Discovery , 


*‘That’s often the case in medicine/' replied the 
doctor as he began to prepare the injection. 

*‘'Yes, and it is often the way in life. Our 
hardest paths often lead us to a higher plane of 
thought, success or what you will. By trying and 
painful tests we are made ready for another 
world. But I am afraid I shall reach that new 
sphere before my time if I ever go through that 
experience again." ;* 

“Now," said the doctor, when the simple opera- 
tion had been completed, “I have something like a 
confession to make to you. It may be wrong, but 
I am sure you will agree with me in the end that 
what I did was justified by the motive. I mean 
to say that yesterday you were the exemplifica- 
tion of what will be one of the greatest blessings 
conferred on mankind." 

“No Christian man could object to that. Rather 
he should glory in it." 

“That's just my opinion, and I'm glad you think 
so. Well, to go on. The medicine I have in- 
jected into you is a discovery of my own." The 
clergyman shuddered a little at this. “Don't be 
anxious, for it was perfectly harmless. I have 
given it the name of the ^temper cure.' Once 
having been treated with it you will take care that 


4f 


The Temper Cute* 


you never lose your temper again. It will be a 
safeguard to your being rash or dangerous ” 

‘‘You brute. Do you mean to say ’’ 

But the clergyman could go no further. The 
symptoms of the previous evening appeared again 
and the man of God was rolling on the floor, a 
sputtering, vomiting mass of human wretched- 
ness. Dr. Winchester picked him up, smiling, as 
was indeed unusual, from the exuberance of his 
inward joy. The attack lasted about ten min- 
utes. Then the doctor warned him solemnly to be 
calm, and control himself, unless he should desire 
to experience the same trouble again. 

“Oh dear ! Oh dear \” groaned the man. “To 
think of being imposed on in this way ’’ 

“Be careful !’’ 

“I don't care, I think it is abominable ! Now I 
suppose you’ll have my picture in all the papers 
as an example of your insane nostrum. Think of 
itl A clergyman whose temper has had to be 
treated posing before the world as a converted 
sinner from the vice of anger. I won’t stand it.” 

“Took out. It’s coming on. You must con- 
trol yourself.” 

The Rev. Dr. Stackhouse grabbed his hat and 
bolted from the house. 

It was a rather unexpected turn of events for 

42 


The Disco vefy< 


the physician. Where he had expected to be greet- 
ed as one of the great discoverers of the world 
and a blessing to mankind, he had been abused 
and called a brute. He reflected that it was the 
usual fate of those who become universal bene- 
factors. But it worried him. He gave himself 
but little comfort for the rest of the day and the 
night. He could not sleep. He wondered what 
course the minister would pursue. He began to 
understand that it was hardly an experiment a 
self-respecting man would desire to be subjected 
to. Yet he knew the man was a good man, and 
in his calmer moments could not deny the blessing 
which would be brought to many homes where a 
bad temper acts like a constant thorn in the flesh. 

He had taken the right view. Early the next 
morning he saw with much satisfaction the ap- 
proaching form of the minister. He reflected 
that he would hardly have come if he still felt as 
on the previous evening. 

“I shall have to confess, Eddie,” Dr. Stackhouse 
began aflfectionately, “that I was a little hasty last 
time I was here. Much as I dislike being made 
the victim of your discovery, I shall have to admit 
that it will be a great boon to mankind. How 
many people I have known whose bad temper has 
been the only bar to their success, the only cause 
43 


The Temper Cute* 


of their unhappiness ! It has required a night of 
prayer and thought, and I may say suffering, to 
bring me to feel so. Yes, I have had two at- 
tacks. The last was simply indescribable. I am 
very certain I shall not yield again. But I am 
convinced that the venture is not practicable, and 
have come to tell you that it would certainly be 
unwise to go further with it.” 

^Why?” 

^Well, it will surely be the death of me if I al- 
low my anger to grow on me.” 

‘‘Not at all. I know a man who has had the 
same experience for 20 years. He sometimes 
does lose his temper, but only once in several 
years.” 

“So ! So ! But I thought that you were the dis- 
coverer ?” 

“I am.” 

“Well, well ! You mystify me.” 

“I may tell you more about it some time. It 
would not do now.” The doctor pictured the 
clergyman when he might learn that some of the 
corpuscles of Sam Harrison’s body were coursing 
through his veins. 

“Well, I must implore you that you keep my 
name out of it. I am willing to bear almost any- 
thing for the sake of my fellowman, but I must 
44 


The Disco very < 


say that to be exploited in this way before the 
world is more than I can stand 

*‘It may not be necessary/’ Dr. Winchester re- 
plied, with a cautious deliberation. “But I cer- 
tainly cannot allow any one to stand in the light of 
the discovery. I will, however, let you know if I 
ever exf>ect to use your name, and at the same 
time shall expect you to keep the matter an entire 
secret.” 

“Depend upon mei Depend upon me! >1 am 
the last person in the world to mention it.” 

He then rose to go and his step was much 
lighter and joyous. 

He had no further treatment after that. It did 
not seem necessary. Things began to improve 
at the home. Dinner came late three days in suc- 
cession one week, but nothing was said. Mrs. 
Stackhouse took on a healthier color and gained 
seven pounds. The housemaid told the sewing 
circle that she thought things had improved, and 
she guessed the minister had heard something, or 
else Dr. Wiinchester had done him some good and 
he must be a good and wonderful doctor if he had. 
The people noticed that the minister met them in 
his old cordial manner. Then a revival was 
started and an evangelist came an^ harmony was 


45 


The Temper Cure 


gradually restored. The spiritual life of the 
parish was renewed. 

Dr. Winchester now turned his attention to his 
brother-in-law. Strangely enough, it was with no 
increase of respect or affection for him. He re- 
flected that he was the source of the fruition of all 
his hopes and dreams. Yet he also conceived the 
idea that it was something he was no more re- 
sponsible for than was he himself for the de- 
formity which militated so powerfully against his 
success in his chosen profession. Nevertheless, 
he knew he was the goose that was to lay for him 
his golden eggs and must be preserved. He was 
as yet uncertain whether he must use the blood 
taken in the heat of anger, or whether it depended 
not upon the mood for its efficaciousness. That 
must be settled if he was to put his discovery into 
universal use. Moreover, he could not bring 
himself to intrust his secret to its source, as he 
feared his meanness would prevent its ever being 
obtained in large quantities. 

So he resolved to call on him. He met him 
with unusual bonhomie, smiling and shaking his 
hand cordially. This manner, however, only 
served to accent his blinking and was calculated 
to make him more repulsive than in his normal 
state. 


46 


The Disco very < 


'Thought I would come up and see how you 
were, Sam/’ he said brightly. 'T’m not so over- 
burdened with sick people, you know, that I can’t 
look after them all in good shape.” 

"Well, I’m glad ye’ve come, fer, ef I must say 
it. I’m feelin’ pretty meachin’.” 

The doctor’s face lightened strangely. "Let 
me feel your pulse. Yes, a little fast. Think I’d 
better put the leeches on again.” 

"Well, ef yer must ” 

In a trice the doctor had eight at work. "I’ll 
do it up brown this time,” he added. He left his 
brother-in-law in bed and drove home at a rapid 
pace. 

He had now only to wait for his next victim, 
or more properly speaking, patient. 


47 


The Temper Cutc^ 


IV. 

THE SANITARIUM. 

It SO happened that this little New Hampshire 
village was sought in summer by a few people 
who desired its quiet, its arboreal hillsides and 
freedom from the outside world. They were a 
choice sort of people, even if they were few in 
number. They kept pretty quiet, too, about their 
snug retreat, so that the number was rarely in- 
creased. There were in all about a dozen small 
cottages and perhaps half a dozen villas. One of 
its greatest blessings was the absence of a summer 
hotel. 

Among these human birds of passage who 
regularly changed their place of residence with 
the season was a representative of that distinctly 
American species known as the multi-millionaire. 
He was neither a pork packer, nor a Pennsylva- 
nian who had struck oil. He had erected a large 
business enterprise in New York, and by a per- 
fectly honorable course of constantly venturing 
his capital in a legitimate business had made a 
48 


The Sanitarium* 


handsome fortune. He had sprung from the 
common people and had never lost his good sense. 
The acquirement of wealth had never gone to his 
head. But a life spent mainly in the four walls 
of the counting room is apt to prove wearing and 
he was compelled to knock off for at least a por- 
tion of the year. The sudden transition from im- 
mense activity to idleness proved disastrous to his 
disposition. 

Early in his coming to the New Hampshire vil- 
lage he had made the acquaintance of Dr. Stack- 
house, and the pair grew to be excellent friends. 
It was an old man's friendship, with all the loveli- 
ness of those maturer attachments. There was 
probably nothing that the minister would not do 
for his friend, and in many ways Mr. Goddard 
had shown his friendship to the clergyman. He 
had urged him to give up his work and allow him- 
self to be supported handsomely in ease and free- 
dom. This, however, did not please the inde- 
pendent spirit of the minister, whose ambition in 
life had never been to seek a sinecure. 

Whatever it may be in theory, enforced idle- 
ness is far from being a pleasant condition in life. 
Mr. Goddard chafed under it in much the same 
manner as a caged lion paces its prison. His 
temper did not improve, and for days he seemed 
49 


The Temper Cure^ 


to be in a sort of low depression. Then some 
little thing would go wrong and Mrs. Goddard 
and the children had to suffer. These increased 
in number until Mrs. Goddard resolved one day to 
endure it no longer, and packing her trunks, de- 
parted with her children for Saratoga. With one 
real separation thus secured and the fear that a 
permanent one might be desired, the mental con- 
dition of the man of wealth was one of the 
greatest sadness. He took a walk with Dr. Stack- 
house in the glade beside the river and told the 
whole story of his sorrows. 

“I don’t know what is going to happen,” he 
said. “If Adelaide could only know that I am a 
sick man it seems as if she would be more chari- 
table. I am sure that I am far from well. My 
nerves seem all unstrung as soon as I knock off. 
But when I return to business all seems bright 
again. I am too old a dog to take any pleasure 
in life outside of what has kept me busy for the 
past half century. I don’t mean to be unkind to 
my wife or the children. But they irritate me 
awfully. If I could only take these little things 
and let them roll off my back with the same in- 
difference that I feel when I lose a half a million 
in a week, all would be well. But I am angry be- 


50 


The Sanitarittm^ 


fore I know it — and then neither the family nor 
myself can take any pleasure in existence.” 

The good clergyman sympathized most deeply 
with his friend. “I am able to feel for you all 
the more truly since I have myself sutfered in a 
very similar manner. I think if you will follow 
my treatment you will be much improved. You 
have noticed the change in me and how much 
better things are going here. If you will give 
me your word of honor never to reveal the facts 
in the case I’ll tell you how I have been able to 
conquer a temper that was fast getting the best 
of me.” 

‘T would do anything!” 

^Perhaps. You will find it is not easy.” 

Dr. Stackhouse then related the whole case. 
Mr. Goddard was much impressed by the unique 
discovery. He believed it would prove a great 
blessing. But he stood much in the situation of 
one who hesitates to take a cold plunge in the sea. 
His ardor had cooled considerably. He thought 
that perhaps after all a little more exercise and a 
particular diet would accomplish the same pur- 
pose and left the clergyman somewhat disap- 
pointed. 

Meanwhile affairs had come to a stop with Dr. 
Winchester. He had no more patients and he 
5i 


The Temper Cute* 


was at a loss how to discover whether the new 
corpuscles of his brother-in-law were going to 
work. He had no one at hand upon whom he 
could try the experiment. His mother, a most 
amiable woman, was seldom ruffled, and there was 
no one of his acquaintance to whom he could go 
for a solution of his perplexities. Moreover, he 
was sadly bewildered as to how he should let the 
world know of his remarkable discovery. It was 
certainly not possible to do so without money and 
influence, neither of which he could command. 
He doubted whether his discovery would win 
patronage if proclaimed to the world in the in- 
fancy of its trial. While in the midst of these per- 
plexities he was aroused one evening by a knock 
at his door. 

He immediately answered the call and found 
Mr. Goddard. He received him with all the ur- 
banity which the great respect for Mr. Goddard’s 
cash account at once aroused within him. This 
only made him more disagreeable than he would 
have been had he not endeavored to smile and 
thus accentuate the twitching of his eyes. 

‘T am well aware that it is rather late, doctor,” 
Mr. Goddard began. ^‘But I have come to attract 
as little attention as possible, and before going 
further I wish to swear you to the utmost secrecy 
52 


The Sanitafium. 


concerning everything which may pass between 
us.” 

Dr. Winchester was rubbing his hands and was 
in a mood to do almost anything. 

you do me good and what I have heard con- 
cerning you is true, I can assure you it will be to 
your great advantage if you keep my affairs a 
profound secret. In fact I might be of more than 
trifling service to you.” 

"With all my heart, sir! Whatever goes on 
between us shall never be known outside these 
four walls.” 

“Well, then. I’ll take your word. The declara- 
tion of an honest man is as good as his bond to 
me — when I am sure he can carry it out. I may 
as well proceed to the object of my visit. I came 
here as a patient, in much the same condition as 
the Rev. Dr. Stackhouse. He has spoken to me 
of you. But I have tried to give him the impres- 
sion that I should be unwilling to submit to the 
same treatment. In reality, I am very anxious to 
do so. I am taking no pleasure in life. Neither 
are any of the members of my family. We are 
all suffering from an excess of nervousness in me. 
To put it straight, I can’t control my temper. Dr. 
Stackhouse has told me that you have a temper 
cure.’* 


53 


The Temper Cute* 


**Did he tell you its nature?*’ the doctor inter- 
rupted. 

**He did not. But as he seems to have lived 
through it and it has apparently worked wonders 
with him, I am willing to follow his example in 
this matter, which as in all other affairs is truly 
admirable. I have therefore come to you for 
treatment. I am told it is simple and shall be 
glad to have it over as soon as possible. My wife 
and family have gone off in a huff, and I am 
rather lonely.” 

Pleasure and joy were visibly painted on the 
face of Dr. Winchester, as far as it was possible 
for such a countenance to bear its impress. As 
he mechanically proceeded to try his experiment 
visions of what might be the fruit of the visit of 
this rich man thronged fast upon him. He de- 
cided to use the blood which he had let from his 
brother-in-law on his last visit. To prove the 
efficacy of that would be to advance the possi- 
bilities of the remedy in a great degree. All the 
time he was endeavoring to devise some means of 
making this man angry before he left his office. 

‘‘That seems easy enough,” the patient said, and 
putting his hands in his waistcoat pulled out a 
check already written. Dr. Winchester placed it 
in his pocket without looking at it. 

54 


The Sanitarium* 


“Yes,” he said, “everything seems easy to you 
rich men. You never consider how long we have 
to work to do these simple things. To you the 
making of money is simply the passing of pieces 
of paper properly signed and indorsed.” 

“What’s that you say ? I’d just like to hear you 
say that again !” 

“Well, what if I should not choose to? Don’t 
think you can always have your own way.” 

A hot flush crimsoned Mr. Goddard’s face. 
“Seems to me you can add impudence to your 
other accomplishments !” 

“Don’t think, sir, just because you have a bank 
account you can afford to insult a man in his 
own house.” 

The test seemed to be showing signs of suc- 
cess. The crimson on Mr. Goddard’s face was 
being replaced by a greenish yellow hue, quickly 
shading into black. A minute more and the sleek, 
rotund form of the millionaire was rolling on the 
floor, followed by the other familiar symptoms of 
the case. 

When the doctor had placed him on his sofa the 
man began to pour forth a torrent of abuse. 
“Now, you must stop that or you will have an- 
other attack,” Dr. Winchester warned him. “I 
may as well tell you that I talked as I did merely 

55 


LofC. 


The Temper Cistc< 


as a part of the treatment. I have in fact the 
highest respect for you, and I may say for all men 
who achieve wealth in an honorable way. But 
you cannot give way to anger again without feel- 
ing the same sensations you have just passed 
through, with the added misery that each attack 
will be worse than the preceding.’^ 

^‘To feel that way again would be worse than 
dying! I never experienced anything like it. If 
that’s to be the penalty of temper I shall take good 
care to never repeat it. It has always been such 
a simple matter to let fly, so to speak. And, doc- 
tor, in spite of the unpleasant wav you have of 
bringing about a cure, I must thank you. I shall 
telegraph Adelaide this very hour that she must 
come at once. I can say with truth that I have 
never been so ill in my life, and that I am in the 
hands of a physician.” 

"‘It has given me pleasure to be of service to 
you, sir, although I am sorry to be obliged to give 
you pain. I believe I have a great discovery for 
the world. This test has even opened up greater 
resources and I am now puzzled as to how I may 
be able to bring it to the notice of the world at 
large.” 

“Well, I am interested in it, too, and may be in 
a way to talk about it to you later. But remem- 


The Samtafit<m» 

her that I am never to be revealed. Don’t tell Dr. 
Stackhouse or any person of my visit.” 

shall remember and respect your confidence.” 

‘^And, by the way, doctor, I am a little troubled 
with gout up here, perhaps you can do something 
for me in that line?” 

‘‘Yes, a little leeching is an excellent thing for 
it.” 

“Well, I’ll come over in a day or so. But I 
want a little time with Adelaide and the children 
first.” 

When he had departed Dr. Winchester took the 
check from his pocket and saw that it was for 
$ 1 , 000 . 

If his dreams savored a little of avarice that 
night it must be laid to the fact that he had had 
his first contact with a millionaire. His pathway 
seemed bright before him. He only needed some 
rich patron, and the rest would be easy. If only 
he could devise some means by which he would 
not be dependent on his brother-in-law. That 
was the only real cloud on his horizon. He was 
thinking much about it. 


57 


The Temper Cute* 


V. 

^AME AND fortune. 

Four days later he had the honor of another 
late evening call from his new friend. 

'‘We’re having a sort of a second honeymoon/’ 
he said. 'Tve always been a practical sort of a 
man, and whenever I go into a thing I am a trifle 
cautious. I wouldn’t have those sensations again 
for a good deal. So when I’m the least bit huffy 
I think of that awful sickness, and I tell you I’m 
mighty calm. Adelaide and the children hardly 
know me. Now I’ve just come over to tell you 
we must put this thing through right away. Its 
a great philanthropy. But at the same time I 
can see money in it, and I ’ll leave you free to go 
ahead and get up a 'temper cure’ right up here. 
Folks won’t want to have it known much, I 
reckon, that they’ve patronized you, for that’s just 
the way I feel myself. Now to come down to 
business. I’m going to place $50,000 at your dis- 
posal, and all I ask is a demand note. If you 
don’t succeed I shall burn it up. But if you 
make a go of it I shall ask for a little return and 
58 


Fame anci Fortune* 


we will give you the credit and the biggest share 
of the profits. Why, zounds ! man, you’ll be one 
of the greatest benefactors of the age. You rank 
along o’ Edison and Pasteur and all those fellers. 
Now, I’ve sent word to have the money placed in 
your name in the Brokers’ National Bank in New 
York, and if you’ll siggi this note you can go 
ahead to-morrow. But mind you keep my name 
out of it.” 

Dr. Winchester lost no time in signing a paper 
that placed what seemed to him a fortune im- 
mediately at his disposal. His head swam a little 
but he was calm. 

“Now, if you’ll give me the treatment for gout 
I shall feel all right.” 

This was quickly done, the leeches being placed 
on salt, and the blood carefully saved on thin 
paper. 

Not many days later the villagers were sur- 
prised to see a large amount of lumber being 
brought to the field directly adjoining Dr. Win- 
chester’s house. Inquiry revealed that it was by 
his orders, and further information leaked out 
that he was on the point of erecting some kind of 
a hospital for the use of a new medical treatment 
of which he was the author. As “Aunt Mary” 
had said, if he could be started he would be all 
59 


The T emp er CurCi 


right. A practice at once seemed to spring up 
about him. His fellow physicians, who had 
laughed a good deal about him, were well sobered. 
He soon had another patient, upon whom he tried 
his new remedy, using the corpuscles which he 
had abstracted from the person of the millionaire. 
It worked to a charm, and he breathed freer to 
feel that he was really independent of his brother- 
in-law. The remedy was self-perpetuating. Each 
patient would supply the magic remedy for the 
temper-stricken humanity to follow him. Sam 
Harrison’s poor blood would thus become the 
medium for sweetening the dispositions of all 
mankind! So often, in spite of themselves, do 
the meanest of God’s creatures in human form 
become the instruments for doing good. 

Before the new structure which was to be the 
first temper cure was finished the late autumn had 
called the lingering sojourners among the bright 
foliage of this pretty village to their city homes. 
In the club and among his business associates Mr. 
Goddard found not a few whose cases were not 
unlike his own. He took compassion on them 
and was also mindful of his little investment in 
New Hampshire. He gave a little quiet advice, 
''nd thus it happened that a good number of pa- 
tients were booked for the first temper cure be- 
60 


Fame and Fortune* 


fore it was finished. It may be stated that none 
of them were aware of the method of treatment. 

Meanwhile Dr. Winchester was a changed man. 
Hope and the near realization of his dream of 
wealth had transformed him. As the structure 
of his ambition took form in the handsome build- 
ing which was to be its home, his scope of vision 
widened. He thought of the various cures he 
would have throughout the United States. But 
why stop here? he thought. 

Certainly the whole world needed such a benef- 
icent institution. There was England and the 
whole of Europe and Asia and Africa! Surely, 
wherever man existed flesh was weak and a tem- 
per cure would prove a blessing. 

In the early winter the building was completed 
and was dedicated by receiving the first batch of 
patients. It would appear that the need of tam- 
ing the temper was not one that could be applied 
to any one class of people, for it was a representa- 
tive assembly that came for treatment, and in- 
cluded all sorts and conditions of men and wom- 
en. A salient feature was the great desire that 
each one showed that their own identity should 
for the nonce be concealed. Each came armed 
with a little list containing their weakest points. 
It would be difficult to describe the scenes which 
6t 


The Temper 


transpired in that new home for troubled human 
flesh as each one was roused to anger by adroit 
application of individually irritating acts, until 
the lesson of the futility of allowing angry pas- 
sions to rise was learned and because the secret 
was its own safeguard. Physicians examined the 
corpuscles of blood, but chemical means failed to 
make them appear any different from any others. 

Moreover, it needed no advertisement. The 
cured told the afflicted and as the twentieth cen- 
tury grew from infancy to youth and temper cures 
sprang up throughout the country, a sweeter hu- 
man character seemed to place its stamp on the 
era, and malice, hatred and all uncharitableness 
began to disappear. Perhaps before its end the 
millennium will be in sight, and wars and rumors 
of wars will be no more. 


THE END. 


62 


THE 


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